BOOKS BY KIM VOGEL SAWYER
What Once Was Lost
The Grace That Leads Us Home
Echoes of Mercy
Just As I Am
Through the Deep Waters
THE ZIMMERMAN RESTORATION TRILOGY
When Mercy Rains
When Grace Sings
WHEN GRACE SINGS
PUBLISHED BY WATERBROOK PRESS
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Colorado Springs, Colorado 80921
All Scripture quotations or paraphrases are taken from the King James Version or the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica Inc.TM Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com.
The characters and events in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual persons or events is coincidental.
Trade Paperback ISBN 978-0-307-73133-3
eBook ISBN 978-0-307-73134-0
Copyright © 2015 by Kim Vogel Sawyer
Cover design and photography by Kelly L. Howard
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying and recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published in the United States by WaterBrook Multnomah, an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House LLC, New York, a Penguin Random House Company.
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v3.1
For Kendall Grace,
with love and prayers for you to rest in His strength
and seek His will always
Contents
Cover
Other Books by This Author
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Alexa’s Peach-Pecan Pie
Readers Guide
Acknowledgments
Chicago, Illinois
Early September
Briley Forrester
A folded newspaper slammed onto the corner of Briley’s desk. His fingers left the keyboard with a jolt, and he sent a scowl in the direction of the person who’d interrupted his focus. He cleared the frown quickly when he recognized his boss. He leaned back in his squeaky chair and forced a light chuckle.
“Did you skip your morning coffee, Len? You look a little tense.” Or maybe he needed a hair from the dog that bit him. Len’s red, watery eyes and drooping jowls spoke of too much imbibing last night. A habit many of his coworkers practiced, but one Briley had been wise enough to avoid establishing. Aunt Myrt had never approved of drunkenness.
“What I need is a story that’ll break us out of our rut and put us on top again.” Len perched on the edge of Briley’s desk. His bald head shone under the harsh fluorescent lights. He folded his arms over the chest of his rumpled plaid shirt and blew out a noisy breath. The man must be bothered. Rarely did he show up to the Real Scoop office in anything other than a crisply ironed shirt and bold tie. He glowered at the newspaper lying half on, half off the desk. “Look at the headline. Look what sells papers these days.”
Briley picked up the copy of the Illinois Times and unfolded it. A photograph of an Amish barn raising filled a quarter of the front page, and the lead article read “Plain Living Brings Joy and Peace.” While Briley scanned the article about the increased yearly tourism in Amish-Mennonite communities, Len continued to bluster.
“You gotta be kidding me. Driving a buggy, wearing pants with suspenders, living in a house without a television or microwave—that’s supposed to make a person happy? It’s nothing but a bunch of hooey.”
Briley set the paper aside. “So let ’em have their moment in the sun. What’s it to you?”
Len’s frown deepened. “They irk me, that’s what. Ever gotten stuck behind one of their tractors on the highway? What’re they doing anyway, driving their farm implements where only cars are supposed to be? And don’t get me started on what their horses leave behind in parking lots. Disgusting.” Len snatched up the newspaper and glared at the black-and-white image. “Look at ’em in their Little House on the Prairie clothes and Tom Sawyer straw hats, climbing all over that barn frame. This is news? But it’s the hottest story on Internet search sites this morning. I don’t understand it …”
A prickle inched itself up Briley’s spine. Could this be it—the idea that would take him from bit pieces in the middle of the tabloid to a front-page feature and byline? He tamped down his excitement. He couldn’t just blurt it out. Somehow he had to make it Len’s idea.
He rocked his chair on its creaky springs and assumed an unconcerned grin. “Aw, you know how people are about the Amish. Probably half the out-of-staters who come to Illinois take a drive through Amish country, gawk at the buggies and clothes flapping on the line and horses pulling plows, and buy a jar of apple butter. It makes ’em feel good to believe those folks in their homemade clothes and houses lit by lanterns have it all figured out.” He pretended to examine a small chip in his thumbnail. “ ’Course, we know it’s hooey, like you said, but it’d be pretty hard to convince the general populace otherwise.”
Briley gnawed his thumbnail and watched Len out of the corner of his eye. His boss was thinking—crunched brow, tapping foot, lips twitching around like a fly had gotten trapped in his mouth. But it might take a while for a coherent thought to form, considering the man’s dip into a bottle last night. Although impatience nibbled at Briley, he refused to give vent to it. In his two years of working under Len’s direction, he’d learned he couldn’t push the man any more than he could push a rope. Just let him reason it out.
Bending over his keyboard again, Briley applied his fingertips to the keys and tried to tap out a few sentences about the scandal surrounding the selection of the new American Idol winner. He’d only managed to form a half-dozen words when Len blasted out a guffaw. Whaddaya know. He’d formed a thought. Briley hid a smile and looked up. “What?”
Len smacked Briley’s desk with his open palm. “Hooey. All hooey. We know it, right? So let’s make sure the world at large knows it.”
Briley raised his eyebrows in what he hoped was an expression of surprise. “You mean, disprove the Plain-living-means-peaceful-living theory?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.” Len’s red-rimmed eyes sparkled with fervor. He leaned in, resting his elbow on his knee and settling his intense gaze on Briley’s face. �
��No one’s ever tried to show the truth—the real truth—of living Plain. And I’m willing to bet you my Mercedes-Benz the truth is half those folks wearing bonnets and shoveling manure would rather be living in air-conditioned houses and popping frozen dinners in microwaves.”
Briley laughed. “I’m happy with my Camaro, thanks, but it’d be interesting to pursue the story.” He’d intended to let Len come up with the whole idea himself, but he couldn’t hold back his thoughts. “Consider the trickle-down effect. We could put the visit-the-Amish tourism out of business, bringing those visitors back to the cities to frequent the museums and theaters and bars instead. Every big city near an Amish community would thank us.”
Len’s lips pursed, the furrows in his broad forehead deepening. “The problem is how to really prove the people living in those communities are dissatisfied with their simple existence. Nobody’d believe it without quotes from the Plain folks themselves. And you can’t just ask them. They’d tell you they’re perfectly content.” He grimaced, shaking his head. “No, a person would have to live among them. Win their trust. Then he could authentically uncover the reality of living Plain.”
“Live among them?” Briley made a face. An intentionally distasteful face. “No reporter with a wife or kids is going to want to pack up and move to an Amish town for who-knows-how-long to make friends and dig up the truth.”
Len squinted an eye at Briley, as if taking aim. “You don’t have a wife or kids. You don’t even have a dog. Are you volunteering?”
Boy, it was hard to stay in his chair. Briley linked his hands behind his head and faked a yawn. “Well, you’re right about me not having anything holding me back. I suppose I could do it.”
Len smirked. “Your subtle act is a little too well done. I know you want this story. It’s one of those rare ones that can make a reporter in this business.”
Briley offered a sheepish grin. Maybe Len wasn’t as oblivious as Briley sometimes believed. But he kept a rein on his eagerness. Len could still hand the story to somebody else, leaving Briley looking the fool. “Okay. I confess, I’d like to do it.”
“You sure?” Len lost the teasing look. “This could be the dirtiest dirt the Real Scoop has dug up to date. It’ll take real focus. Cunning. Pulling the wool over people’s eyes. In other words, finding a way to fit in so you have access to the real dirt. You aren’t exactly known for fitting in.”
Len would never know how much anger his last comment stirred, because Briley was well practiced in hiding his true feelings. But the emotion roared through his gut and sent heat from his midsection to his extremities. He clenched his fists on the back of his head and ground his teeth together. After slowly counting to five, he brought himself under control enough to answer.
Forcing his lips into a wry curl, he brought his arms down and propped his elbows on the chair’s hard plastic armrests. “Maybe I just haven’t had the right motivation to fit in anywhere yet. Doesn’t mean I can’t do it.”
Len examined him for several seconds, and Briley remained still and unflinching beneath his boss’s scrutiny. Finally a grin tugged at one corner of the man’s lips. “All right. It might take me a little while to get everything organized for a lengthy stay in Amish country, but I’ll get it arranged. In the meantime, do lots of reading up on the Plain groups. I mean, research ’em deep, Briley. Get their traditions and religious practices in your head so you won’t go offending them the minute you hit town.”
Briley raised his hand like a Boy Scout making a pledge.
With a snort of amusement or derision—Briley couldn’t quite determine which—Len pushed off from the desk and snatched up the newspaper that had started their discussion. Tapping his thigh with the rolled-up wad of newsprint, he aimed a warning look in Briley’s direction. “Don’t get too cocky. Those people are supposedly family oriented. That’ll be unique for you, who’s never had a family to speak of. Don’t let some Amish girl sucker you in.”
Len’s comment about family cut, but Briley covered it with a laugh. “Briley Forrester taken in by a plain-clothed, plain-faced, plain-living female?” He shook his head, hunching back over his keyboard. “Not likely.”
Sommerfeld, Kansas
Late September
Anna—Grace Braun
Sissy! Sissy, you need to come out!” Small fists banged on Anna—Grace’s closed bedroom door, adding insistence to the demanding call.
Anna—Grace chuckled indulgently, familiar with the long-practiced morning routine. Who needed an alarm clock when she had an early rising little sister? “I’ll come when I’m ready, Sunny.” She pinched up one last bobby pin and raised it to her cap.
“But, Sissy, Steven is here and wants to see you now!”
Steven was here? Before breakfast? Even though Anna—Grace had spent the better part of yesterday afternoon with Steven—on the front porch with her folks’ watchful gazes aimed out the living room window—her heart fluttered as eagerly as if they’d been apart for weeks. Anna—Grace dropped the pin on her dresser top where it bounced twice and leaped over the edge. She dashed to the door and swung it open, nearly tripping over Sunny.
Laughing, she caught her little sister by the shoulders and did a side step that put her in the lead. She scurried up the hallway with Sunny trotting along on her heels, her small hand batting Anna—Grace’s arm. As she passed the wide doorway to the kitchen, she peeked in and caught Mom’s eye.
Mom gave an understanding smile. “Sunny, come here, please.”
“But—”
“Help me set the table for breakfast.”
With a sigh Sunny changed course and headed into the kitchen, allowing Anna—Grace to enter the living room free of her little shadow. She loved Sunny dearly. She’d prayed for a younger sibling every night from the time she was four until she’d turned thirteen, and she wouldn’t trade the little girl who’d come all the way from China for anything in the world. But sometimes she needed privacy.
Steven waited on the patch of tile just inside the front door. As always, the sight of her intended raised a rush of warmth from her chest to her face. Did every girl feel so giddy and light when in the presence of the one she loved? Would this wondrous feeling someday be commonplace, the way Sunny’s morning door knocks and calls were now an expected part of a daily routine? How Anna—Grace hoped she’d never lose the heart-lifting pleasure of gazing upon her golden-haired, broad-shouldered beau.
“Good morning, Steven.” She wheezed the greeting, a bit breathless from her mad dash through the house. “What a surprise. I didn’t expect to see you today.”
He swished his thigh with his dark blue ball cap, creating a rhythmic whisk-whisk. “Yeah, well, it’s a surprise to me, too.”
A shy grin lifted the corners of his lips, capturing Anna—Grace’s attention. His pale-pink lips, the lower one plump and soft looking, had never kissed her except on her cheek or temple, but she anticipated the day when they would meet her lips for the first time. Only five more months now! In the Old Order faith, being a wife and mother was a woman’s highest calling, and February couldn’t come soon enough to suit her. She pushed the thoughts aside as Steven cleared his throat and continued in his easy, low-pitched drawl.
“When I went home from here yesterday evening, my folks gave me some news. They thought you should know it, too, and Mom said I’d better come right away. Otherwise you might hear it from someone else first. You know how word spreads in town.”
There were no secrets in Sommerfeld. Sometimes the intimacy of her close-knit community gave her comfort, and other times it rankled. She offered a quick shrug. “What’s the news?”
“You know how my brother took off five years ago and we haven’t seen him since?”
Kevin Brungardt’s departure was a painful chapter in his family’s history. It had left a bruise on the hearts of many Sommerfeld residents who’d watched him grow more and more belligerent before finally sneaking off one night under the cover of darkness. Anna—Grace’s parents
still prayed he’d return someday, but she didn’t hold out much hope, given the young man’s rebellious nature. Fortunately Steven was nothing like his brother. “Yes, I know.” She spoke softly, injecting sympathy in her tone.
Steven pulled in a breath and blew it out. “My grandfather—Mom’s father—deeded several hundred acres of land in Arborville to Kevin. But since my brother hasn’t claimed it, Dad petitioned to get it into his and Mom’s names instead. The court approved the request. And Dad says …” An odd expression crossed his face. “He says they’re going to sign the land over to me. As a wedding gift.”
Anna—Grace gasped. She reached for his hand and he took hold, but his grip felt clammy. He must be nervous about the responsibility. But he wouldn’t have to farm it alone. He’d have her to help him. Their own farm! She couldn’t curb her excitement. “What wonderful news! Is there a house on the land?”
Steven nodded slowly. “Just a small one, built in the 1930s or early ’40s. But Dad hasn’t been to the property in years, so he doesn’t know what shape it’s in. The land’s been rented out ever since Granddad Meiers died, with the money from the renters going into an account in Kevin’s name. Dad’s still trying to get that changed over, but he says once it’s done, I can have it, too, in case I need to build a new house or do repairs on the one that’s there. I’ll also need to buy some equipment.”
“Steven, what a blessing.” Anna—Grace fought tears of gratitude. She and Steven couldn’t help but have a wonderful start as husband and wife with a house, cleared fields, and a sum of money to see to their needs. “I feel badly that Kevin sacrificed his inheritance, but I’m so happy for you.”
“I felt funny about taking it, but Dad says it’s only right since I’m Granddad Meiers’s grandson, too. Granddad died the year before I was born, and Mom says if he’d known about me, he likely would have split it between Kevin and me anyway. So I’m not taking anything that isn’t rightfully mine.”
He sounded uncertain. Even undeserving. Her heart ached for him. Steven was such an honorable man—so good and kind and giving. Of course he wouldn’t want to take something that should belong to someone else. Anna—Grace squeezed his hand. “Your mom’s right. Even if Kevin came back tomorrow, he wouldn’t want to be a farmer.”
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